


Avengers time travelling

by CharisCroft



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Oregon Trail (Video Game), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharisCroft/pseuds/CharisCroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain America is sent back in time it falls to the Avengers to bring him back....but can they cope in the far past? And what effect will this have on Steve Rogers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set post Civil War but written before it's released this makes a range of assumptions about that plot line that may not end up being true. Enjoy for what it is...
> 
> This is a first draft - will be updated as chapters are revised
> 
> Sorry updating has taken so long - more coming soon I hope!

It was over in a flash of orange light. One moment Steve was there, arm poised to launch his shield, then the light and…no Steve. The shock rooted all of the Avengers to the ground; it couldn’t have been for more than a fraction of a second, but it stretched into a lifetime as their assailants turned and scattered.   
They weren’t quick enough though. Inevitably, first to move was Natasha, who sprinted after the nearest fleeing body and tripped him. Even in the unfamiliar terrain of downtown Brooklyn she was quicker and more manoeuvrable than most people. Horror and rage fuelled her, driving her to run faster, punch harder, dodge more sharply as he fought back with a fanatic’s desperation. But her cold, calculating core never lost control, channelling the anger and fear to incapacitate rather than kill, suppressing the urge to make him pay. He’d pay, but only once he’d told them what they needed to know. So she focussed her whole fight on knocking him out cleanly. As she fought, she called over the comms to the others, telling them to find the one with the weapon.   
As it turned out, there’d been no need. Barnes was already running, Wilson taking off after him. She just hoped that Bucky would keep control. He wasn’t exactly stable, and losing Steve… Her opponent down, she went after them. Hopefully quickly enough to help Sam hold Bucky back before he did anything drastic.  
There wasn’t a lot of coherent thought happening in Bucky’s head, just the crushing knowledge that Steve had somehow gone. Steve, his one link to reality. Without Steve… He was just an animal, a killing machine: The Winter Soldier, off the leash and wild. His awareness narrowed down to just the running man in front of him, the one who was responsible, the one who’d wielded the strange weapon that had robbed him of his best friend. He was sprinting for his life, but the Winter Soldier could run faster, could use his metal arm to grab him, could use it to crush him. He felt bones crack beneath his fingers, and his target screamed. Filled with a fierce joy, he let go to pull his fist back and pound this villain into a pulp, to make him hurt – but suddenly the face in front of him changed, no longer his target, but a vaguely familiar woman… Struggling against the urge to lash out anyway, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus on what Natasha was saying to him. But as he processed what she was saying, that he couldn’t kill the man, his self-control shredded into tatters – he roared at her in defiance and tried to push her out of his way. She dodged his attack, urgently shouting that he had the weapon that had taken Steve, and they needed him alive, in case he could bring Steve back. Bring him back? Was that possible? He stilled again, feeling his mind fracturing, changing. The animal bloodlust was fading, discordant thoughts and memories pushing it away. Saving Steve had always been the strongest drive in his life. He couldn’t do anything to put him in danger. Still struggling to hold on to himself, he forced himself to take a step back, as Sam landed in front of them, eyeing him warily, seeing the signs of a potential meltdown. Natasha meanwhile was searching the prone individual, pulling weapons out from hidden pockets. They weren’t weapons Bucky recognised – they looked somehow alien. Apart from the wicked knives and blades; those he was very familiar with. She even searched his mouth, wrenching a fake tooth out to prevent him biting on the cyanide capsule when he came to. Having finished her search, she turned her attention to one particular weapon – it looked almost like a fairy wand, with a strange orange stone embedded at the end of it. It brought to mind the sceptre, in a strange kind of way, and she shuddered, hoping they weren’t dealing with anything like that. Leaving the other weapons in a pile, she gingerly picked it up, holding it as far from the strange stone as she could, and headed back to base, nodding to Sam to make sure Bucky followed. After Steve, Sam was the only one Bucky seemed to trust at all, and he was the only one who seemed to be able to calm him down. Without touching him, Sam spoke gently but firmly to him, trying to ground him, and shepherding him after Natasha. Bucky trudged along slowly, trying to keep control of himself. He couldn’t risk letting the Winter Soldier have mastery of him, but keeping his mind together meant remembering the moment that Steve had vanished. Steve was gone. The sense of loss was incredible, and unimaginable. It wasn’t just having lost his best friend again but that this whole world, this time, was too strange and beyond him; Steve had been helping him come to terms with it… He forced himself not to think that Steve was gone. Natasha had said something about getting him back. If it was possible, he would do whatever it took to make it happen. 

\-------------------------------

Interrogation was Natasha’s speciality. Not usually so crudely of course, but getting information out of two injured individuals strapped to chairs would be no challenge. Especially with broken bones to exploit. She suspected they were fanatical types, though, or brainwashed, and those types could be tediously stubborn. On the other hand, Barnes was looking especially unstable and dangerous, and the threat of letting him loose would probably be enough to tip them over. Preferably without actually having to let him loose – in his current state, she had no guarantee she could stop him if he lost control. This was how it always was, her mind running through options and strategies at the speed of light. She sighed. It was good to have options, but you never knew until you were in the middle of a situation which was the best way to go.   
She sat quietly by the man who had wielded that strange wand as he blinked himself awake and watched him realise he was bound. He winced as he struggled against his bonds, and she suppressed a smile; if there was pain, that could only be good for extracting information.  
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Her voice was calm, soothing, but his head whipped round, alarm flashing in his eyes. He didn’t speak, just stared at her, eyes dilating with panic. “I have painkillers here. But first I need you to tell me everything. Tell me what you did to Captain America.”  
“I will not tell you anything.” His voice was surprisingly strong; perhaps she’d over-estimated the damage Barnes had done. She could see his tongue probing the side of his mouth, vainly searching for the fake tooth and its fast release; as soon as she saw it dawn on him that it had gone, she smashed her hand into his damaged arm and was rewarded with a whimper of pain.  
Still soothingly, she said, “I’m just starting. I can hurt you more. Or you can tell me what I want to know.”  
“Never!” The voice was less strong now, but the determination was still clear. Natasha decided she didn’t have time for the long game. Whatever had happened to Steve, he might be suffering and not have a lot of time left. She gestured, and the prisoner turned his head to see the Winter Soldier standing behind him, half hidden in shadow, menace in his stance, and murder in his expression.   
“Just within reach of you is the most deadly assassin of the last two centuries. He has over 50 credited kills. He can crush cars into scrap. And he has spent the last 70 years being used and abused by HYDRA.” She saw something, a flicker of recognition, or perhaps fear, in his eyes. Something she could exploit. “He’s not the most stable of individuals, as you might have noticed.” And indeed, after the events of earlier, Barnes’ eyes were bloodshot and his metal hand was clenching and unclenching spasmodically. She couldn’t have scripted it better. “And less than an hour ago, in front of his eyes, you did something to his best friend, to the one person who tethers him to sanity, to this time and place”. Odd, had there been another flicker as she said ‘time’? “If you don’t tell us what you did to him, I don’t know if I can stop him from finishing what he started”. A satisfying shudder went through her captive, and she saw the pain bloom as it went through the crushed bones. Perfect. “And I don’t know that I’d want to anyway”.   
Silence grew, only punctured by the faint whirr of the servos in that metal arm. As the silence grew heavy, and stretched out, Natasha finally turned to the Winter Soldier.   
“Ok. Over to you.”   
There was only time for him to take one step towards the prisoner, his hair falling in front of his face like a wild man. Natasha knew that the bound man would have seen the feral joy in his eyes and realized that this would be slow and painful, and inevitably end in his broken death.   
“You can’t do anything about it! I can’t help you”. The Winter Soldier was swinging his arm back. Not as skilled as she was in this art, he hadn’t realized that their prey had broken. They’d won, at least this part of the battle.  
“Stop, Bucky!” she called out, but realised that he was too far gone to respond. “Barnes! No!”  
“Stand down, soldier.” Sam’s voice was firm, freighted with the weight of military command. She saw the Winter Soldier flinch, and hesitate, HYDRA’s conditioning for once in line with the even older conditioning of the 1940’s soldier, his eyes flickering doubt. He turned to look at Sam, who met his gaze unflinchingly and held it, daring him to disobey. Natasha could only admire his bravery; nothing would make her willingly challenge an out-of-control Bucky Barnes. She watched as the tide turned in the battle, and finally it was Bucky who looked out of those eyes, confused and lost, but Bucky nonetheless. Stifling a sigh of relief, she turned back to her captive.  
“As you can see, we don’t exactly have him under the best of control. So I suggest you start talking. Next time, you might not be so lucky.” 

 

\-------------------------------

 

“So what you’re saying is that Rogers has been sent back in time? That this stone has the power to do that?” Nick Fury did not look like he was having a good day. Behind him, Tony was listening in as he tinkered with Barnes’ metal arm. Barnes barely seemed to be aware of him – he sat slumped in his seat, staring into the distance, thoughts a million miles away.  
Natasha nodded. “Seems like it’s another one of Thor’s infinity stones – this one works with time. I suspect it does a lot more than time travel, but I’m not sure that the man I took it from really knows a lot about it. He’s not one of their scientists, he’s just one of their grunts. Not hugely bright; I guess they didn’t tell him any more than he needed to know.”   
“Any idea where in time they’ve sent him?”  
“When,” interjected Tony. Fury just looked at him. “What? You don’t go ‘where’ when you’re talking about time.”  
“1843, as far as we can tell,” replied Natasha, deciding that ignoring Tony, as so often was the case, was the easiest course of action. “Our friend was pretty clear about that. Less informative about why then in particular, but like I said, I don’t think they told him a lot.”  
“And why send him back in time? Why not just kill him?” asked Tony. Beside him, Bucky tensed at the thought of Steve being dead, but Tony being Tony, he just went right on tinkering. He could disable the arm in an instant, but the rest of Barnes was still pretty deadly. Having said that, Tony and risk had always been an explosive combination.   
“Again, he wasn’t very clear on that. So far as I can tell, Steve was going to do something important soon, something that would pretty much be the end of HYDRA and their schemes. And they decided that rather than let him do whatever it was, they’d remove him. I have no idea why they came up with such a convoluted plan.” She shrugged. “If it had been me, I’d have just killed him.”  
The look Barnes directed at her could have crumbled mountains. In spite of herself, she took a step back. She couldn’t deny that she was genuinely afraid of him. He had all of Steve’s strength, and seemingly none of his gentleness or moral compass. She knew it was just the conditioning, but the Bucky side of him wasn’t yet strong enough to rein it in.  
“Yeah, Natasha,” chirped Tony. “Let’s not use that kind of language in front of the out-of-control attack dog, shall we?”  
“There’s no need for that.” Sam, silent throughout, now spoke for the first time. “Bucky is still a person, and he can still hear you.”  
Bucky, meanwhile, had subsided back into his seat, and was staring at the floor. He wasn’t trying to gain control of anything; he’d been himself, his Bucky self, all along. He gave a mirthless chuckle at the realisation that he’d terrified Natasha just by being himself. That had been Bucky’s reaction to her talking so casually about Steve’s death, not the Winter Soldier’s. As Tony once again, having totally ignored Sam’s interruption, questioned the need for such a complicated plot, involving ‘all this alien hocus pocus’, Bucky sighed. Wasn’t it obvious?  
“Because Captain America is hard to kill.” Bucky’s voice sounded rusty with disuse. He looked up at Tony as he spoke. “Seventy years under a polar ice cap couldn’t do it.” He swallowed. “Multiple gunshot wounds, being beaten to a bloody pulp and then nearly drowned couldn’t do it. He heals too well, and he doesn’t take damage like normal people. If they were only going to get one chance, something like this is far more likely to work. And then he’s out of the way – it’s as good as him being dead.” He shuddered as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. “Think – in this time, he really is dead.”  
“Looks like we’d better find a way to get him back, then.” Tony’s response was uncharacteristically subdued. “So, I’ll take a look at the stone, figure out how it works, and we’ll send someone back to get him. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”  
“In the meantime, someone should probably try and figure out what HYDRA are planning in this time,” said Natasha. “For all we know, Steve’s timely intervention could be supposed to happen tomorrow. Maybe if we can figure it out, someone else could take his place.”  
“I’ll put some people on it.” Fury spoke decisively. “Romanov, you need to prepare yourself to take a trip back in time. Barnes, you too. Stark, you’re going to have to come up with some way to hide his arm.”  
“Wait a minute. I wouldn’t normally question your decisions, Fury, but you’re seriously planning to send America’s Next Top Super Soldier on this mission? With his grip on reality being – well, let’s just say erratic, shall we?”  
“He has the motivation to succeed, Tony. And no, it’s not your place to question my decisions.” Fury was cold, firm, trying his best to shut down this angle.  
“I mean, undercover is second nature to Romanov, she’s an obvious choice. But why bother with a second agent at all? Especially that one.” Tony was, as ever, oblivious to even not-so-subtle hints.  
“Are you planning to try and stop me, Stark?” Bucky half rose from his seat, leaning toward him, his eyes fierce. Stark, never one to back down from a challenge, started forward too, glancing at Fury as if to say his point had been proved.  
“Calm down, Barnes. No-one’s going to stop you from going.” Fury spoke decisively. “Not only because, unlike some I could mention, I realise the futility of trying to, but because you’re the best choice. But you need to hold it together.” Nodding, and forcing himself to focus, Bucky sat back down again. Even when he wasn’t losing the battle for control with the Winter Soldier, his fractured memories meant that he couldn’t always trust his reactions to be proportionate.   
“Best choice? Really? What about Wilson? He’s Steve’s friend too, and he’s not crazy or brainwashed.”  
“Really, Stark? You think I’m a good choice? We’re talking about the 1840s here – pre-Civil War, pre-Abraham Lincoln. It’s an unenlightened time when I’d have been a possession, not a person.”  
“Barton, then.”  
“Absolutely not.” Natasha jumped in. “He has a wife and family to think about. We risk being stranded nearly 200 years in the past. He’s not going.” And then, before Tony could speak again, she continued, “Barnes and I make the best choice. Not only because the society of the time finds us both acceptable, but because if we end up lost, there’s no-one here to miss us. We’re infinitely more expendable than anyone else.”  
The silence stretched long enough to indicate that Tony had no more arguments, so Fury took command. “Romanov, Barnes, we don’t know what you’re going to face when you go back. It might be easy to locate Rogers – the time shift might take you straight to him. But you might have to pass muster among civilians. So research the time, try to find ways not to draw attention to yourselves, find something period-appropriate to wear – you know the drill, Romanov. And remember, you won’t be able to rely on the technology you take for granted today. You’re going to have to do things the old-fashioned way.”   
“And no messing up the timestream; Temporal Prime Directive and all that.” Natasha’s response to Tony’s flippant comment was a withering look. But despite himself, Bucky smiled. Perhaps the pop culture references Tony made went over his head a little, but there was something about time travel that had always fascinated him. He’d loved most science fiction stories, but it was the ones about time travel, starting with The Time Machine, that had really fired his imagination. And in the brief time he’d spent consciously being Bucky Barnes in the 21st century, Steve had introduced him to some of the more recent advances in the time travel oeuvre.   
“The Doctor’s orders, right?” he said to Tony, who looked most gratifyingly astounded at his comment. Natasha’s expression, however, just got more withering.

 

\----------------------------

 

Natasha was finding herself uncharacteristically distracted as she sat in front of one of Stark’s hi-tech screens an hour or so later. Ostensibly, she was researching life in the 1840s, and more specifically, fashions of the 1840s in order to construct a convincing disguise, but her attention kept being caught by the man sitting across the room from her. Deadly master assassin he might be, but right now, engrossed in reading on his own screen, he looked for all the world just like Steve Rogers’ handsome sidekick from the 1940s. Take away the metal arm, and the – well, the hair, that was going to have to go; nobody in the 1840s wore their hair like that – but take away all that, and he really was just Bucky Barnes. Hard to reconcile with the out of control feral monster he’d been when Steve had vanished, and yet he was that, too. And only incredibly terrifying when that side came out. Natasha was not at all sure she wanted to be going back into the past with only this man for back-up. If he had a meltdown when they were there, and she’d seen one of his meltdowns, and they were not for the faint-hearted, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to cope. Of course, if they found Rogers, then he’d be able to cope, but if they didn’t…  
Suddenly aware of her scrutiny, Bucky looked over at her questioningly. Natasha, caught out looking, chose the brazen way out.   
“Your hair. It’s not a traditional 1840s style – you’ll have to cut it.”  
Bucky frowned, but then shrugged.   
“I’ve been reading about society back then. It would be highly irregular for a single woman to travel on her own, or in the company of a man she wasn’t related to, so I think you’ll have to be my sister.”  
“Wife.”  
“Wh-what?”  
“There is absolutely no family resemblance between us. Me being your wife makes more sense. And makes us stand out less.”  
Bucky could only stare at her.  
“Just don’t get any ideas.”  
The stare turned into a full-blown goggle.  
“Glad we’ve got that established.” And with that, she turned back to her screen.

 

\--------------------------------

 

“Still working on the time stick, but don’t worry, I’ll have your answers soon. Barnes, I’ve developed something that should help to disguise your arm from all but the most inquisitive. Hint – don’t let anyone get too inquisitive. If they touch it, they’ll know it’s not real – it’s kind of hard to disguise a huge hunk of metal. Just stay away from the ladies, you’ll be fine.”  
“Stark…”  
“By the way, I much prefer your new look. It’s a big improvement on the Jesus Terminator vibe you had going on.”  
Bucky sighed. Could he never, ever just be serious?  
“And, knowing how much Romanov loves her tech, I’ve come up with a couple of things that should help you. Obviously, this is before the days of wireless, quite literally, but crucially for you, those radio waves do still exist back then, so I’ve developed a crude, yet effective, comms system for you. A small and discreet earpiece, and an easily concealed state-of-the-art microphone, and as long as you don’t stray too far from each other, you’ll be able to talk to each other. Just be careful when you use it, okay? If anyone sees you talking to yourself, they’ll probably put you on trial for witchcraft.”  
“For God’s sake, Tony…”  
“Also, as I know neither of you is big on your American history, I’ve put together data tablets for you. I’ve downloaded half the internet onto it, so knock yourself out. At least it might help you blend in if you get stuck there for any reason. Solar-powered batteries – I know, I’m spoiling you.”  
“I’ve got people working on costumes for you now – should be finished by the end of the day”.  
Fury was practical, and a contrast to Tony’s flippancy. Although, as ever, under the tone, he’d actually provided some practical solutions.   
“I’m also forging you some cash. If you’re not close to Rogers you may have to find out where he is and nothing opens mouths like money.”  
“Try and give us plenty. We don’t know what we’ll be facing. And if we do get stuck….”  
Natasha didn’t want to contemplate that possibility more than she had to – but you built in contingency and back-up plans, and then back-up plans for the back-up plans whilst hoping you never needed to fall back on them. This mission could be ridiculously simple – go back, grab Steve, come home. But there were a lot of unknowns to be considered, and so you planned and planned some more and thought through all the possible scenarios. Just in case.


	2. Chapter Two - travelling - and a surprise

March 23rd, 2017

So tomorrow I’m heading off back into the past with Romanov to try to find Steve and bring him back. Tony’s figured out how to use the time stone, or whatever it is (Natasha said something about an Infinity Stone, but I don’t really know what she meant by that). At least, he says he has – I guess we’ll find out tomorrow if he’s right. We’re as ready as we can be I guess – I’m the proud owner of a new haircut, and if I wasn’t the easiest of customers because let’s face it, sharp objects near my head tend to set Mr Winter Soldier off, I’m actually quite happy about the end result. I look less like him now, and more like – well, whoever the hell I am now.   
…I’m not very good at this. My therapist, also known as Sam Wilson, the flying Falcon, says that writing things down can help me to make sense of things, especially when I’m struggling with memories coming back, and also just to let out what I’m feeling in a hopefully not so destructive way (he’s only saying that because he’s fed up of me destroying his chairs…). I haven’t really given much thought to it before – I mean, he keeps telling me to do it, but writing things down in a diary? It’s too much like being a teenage girl. And fine, when I said that to Sam, he gave me one of those ‘don’t be such a moron, Barnes’ looks, but it still feels weird. So I hadn’t been doing it. But then Sam came up with a new idea – the computer system in the compound can record and write down what you say, so now I’m supposed to sit in front of a screen and talk to myself. Needless to say, I’ve not being doing much of that either. But now, when I’m possibly about to get lost in the past (I don’t know why, but I have such a bad feeling about tomorrow’s mission), it feels like it might be a good thing to do. Not because I need to talk about how I’m feeling, but because I feel I need to set the record about myself straight, before I get lost for good in the mists of time.  
So here goes.   
I am not a good man. And I’m not talking about the Winter Soldier. He’s not a good man either, but then I have my doubts whether he’s even a man at all. He seems more like a computer programme sometimes. Lines and lines of what Tony calls ‘code’, all priming him to respond in a predictable way to certain situations. Of late, no one’s been giving him the instructions he’s come to expect – he doesn’t like the ones I give him for some reason – and that’s been leading to some erratic behaviour on his part. And many, many broken alarm clocks…  
But I don’t mean him. I mean the man behind him – James Buchanan Barnes. I’m not even sure I’m him anymore, but once upon a time I was, and people seem to keep on treating me like I am him, so maybe on some level I still am. I’ve seen my memorial in the Smithsonian, and I know that Steve has told just about everyone that will listen to him (and being as he’s Captain America, that’s an awful lot of people) about how generally amazing and wonderful I am, but it’s not true. People think that because the great and wonderful Steve Rogers was my best friend, I must be every bit as good as him, but I’m not, and I never was. I’m selfish, not selfless, and I’m ruthless, not merciful. Steve might see only the best in people – but I see the worst. And I’m not brave, not like him. I have no idea what Steve ever saw in me, but he’s my only saving grace.  
My memories are fragmented and broken – I don’t remember everything about my life before HYDRA got their hands on me, but a lot of what I do remember is to do with Steve. Some of the rest I’ve got from him, and there are some bits that aren’t to do with Steve at all, but to do with- No. If I go down that road, I won’t come back.   
I don’t remember a lot about being the Winter Soldier; I think the constant merry-go-round of freezer/mind wipe/mission has permanently damaged my brain. I think perhaps it’s a mercy, but the brief sideswipes of the flashbacks I sometimes get do blindside me. And I’m hard to control when they do.   
But Steve. I guess they never managed to get him out of my system, and ultimately he was able to break through years and years of brainwashing and conditioning where I couldn’t. I sometimes feel like all that time I must have been somewhere inside, screaming in horror at what they were making me do, but I think that’s just a conceit of mine, maybe a way to try to distance myself from what I’ve done. I know the others say what the Winter Soldier did wasn’t me, that I was a victim of HYDRA as much as any of the people I killed, and in some ways, so much more a victim, but I think that’s not entirely true. I’m still here on some level, I still remember being Bucky Barnes, so I should have been able to stop myself. Shouldn’t I? And why didn’t I? Because I didn’t have Steve. He was my goodness, my moral compass, he was the one who made me behave; without him, I don’t have the strength of character to be the hero. And even with him, it’s debatable. I had to see his face again to find the moral courage to stand up to the Winter Soldier, and I did. Which means I could have done it at any time before, and I didn’t. So those kills are my kills too. And that’s not something I’m sure I can live with.   
So here’s the truth about me. And when I’m gone, someone will find this, and then at least they’ll know the real me, not the me that Steve has canonised into some kind of demigod. Because I’m not a good man.  
I was born in 1917 (and I do actually remember that, which is a good thing, because S.H.I.E.L.D. really weren’t sure…) I mean, I don’t remember being born or anything, I mean I remember my birthday – oh never mind… And mostly what I remember is Steve. Apparently, I have – had – three younger sisters, but I don’t really remember them. There’s a vague possibility that they’re still alive today, but it wouldn’t feel right to seek them out. I barely remember their names, and I don’t know how they’d take to seeing their big brother looking like he’s 70 years younger than them. And explaining how that’s the case – I don’t think they’d understand. They don’t live in the same world as the Avengers and Steve – it wouldn’t make sense to them. Plus, finding out your brother’s a mass-murdering fanatic? Not even family ties will stand up to that…  
Steve when he was younger – well, you’d never have guessed he’d grow up to be the world’s best super soldier. He had pretty much every medical condition going – and he was small. He didn’t grow so tall as the rest of us. It didn’t really matter when we were both little, but as we got older, and I started growing, and he didn’t, well, that’s where things didn’t go so well. Because Steve’s personality was too big for that skinny frame, and he would not back down from a fight. I know this, because more often than not, I was the one who ended them. Steve hated bullies, and he hated injustice, and when he saw either, he went charging in to defend the afflicted. And usually ended up on the receiving end of a beating. Unless I was there; I didn’t really care about the preceding bullying or injustice, but I did care about people hurting Steve.   
You might not believe it, but I’m fairly certain I never started a fight of my own. I was too afraid of being hurt, of getting beaten up myself. I’d walk past situations and not get involved – I told you I wasn’t a good man. But when Steve got himself involved, and someone started on him, I had to get involved. Because I couldn’t stand by and see him hurt. The fact that some people actively avoided getting into a situation with Steve when I was around tells you that if I’d wanted to go around starting fights, I’d have been more than ok, but I never really saw it like that at the time. But when I saw Steve in danger, alarm bells started ringing, and without thinking about it, I’d just launch myself into the fray.  
From what Steve has told me, I was also a bit of a ladies’ man. I think it fits with what I know about myself that I would have been. He said I was handsome and charming, and the girls loved me – I don’t have a lot of memories about it, but flashes of a succession of young ladies on my arm would certainly fit with that. I definitely remember that I liked the young ladies; I also remember setting Steve up with a few of them, and I remember being baffled that they didn’t see what I did in him. I mean, sure, he was little, and skinny, but why would they only care about that? He had a gigantic heart, and was far more chivalrous towards them than I ever was – and yet they seemed to like me more. And I think I liked them less for that, you know… Except Peggy, anyway. I liked her a lot. But that’s because she looked at me and she looked at Steve and she chose him. And even if he was big imposing Captain America by then, and I couldn’t hope to compete, she’d known him before he’d been turned into a giant lab rat, and I have the feeling she’d chosen him even then. And how could I possibly ever want to get in the way of that?  
Which brings us to the war. I never wanted to fight in the war – I mentioned before that I didn’t start fights because I was afraid of getting hurt? Well I didn’t want to go to the war, because I was afraid of getting dead. I’d never understood why some men seemed to think it was so full of glory – when we were learning about the Civil War and the Great War, as it was then, it always struck me as so pointless and horrific, that we’d send young men off to die in the endless grinding meat machine that is war. And yet everyone else, including Steve, seemed to think there was no greater sacrifice than to die in the service of your country. And I couldn’t ever say what I really thought to Steve – he would never have understood what I was trying to say. I wasn’t unpatriotic, I cared about my country, but I guess I kind of felt that my country should look after me, and not get itself into situations where I had to go and fight and die for it.   
So when the Second World War came along on the heels of ‘the war to end all wars’, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to enlist. I wanted to stay at home and not die, and look after Steve. Because let’s face it, if I died in the war, so would he. There’d be no one to keep him safe, and keep him healthy, and he’d keep starting fights he couldn’t win, and he’d get sick, and no one would look after him. Because, of course no-one in their right mind would let Steve go to war – with his mountain of health issues, not to mention the fact that being as his father was killed in the last war, he didn’t have to go anyway, I thought he’d be safe. Steve, naturally, didn’t see it that way - he saw no reason why he shouldn’t go and die pointlessly – and tried repeatedly to enlist. Falsifying enlistment forms was illegal – but Steve didn’t let that stop him. Still, I didn’t dream he’d be successful, and if it hadn’t been for Dr Erskine and his stupid super soldier serum, he wouldn’t have been. And yes, Steve was the perfect choice for the serum – his goodness, decency and all the rest – but I would still rather they’d left him alone…  
As for me, I was drafted. In 1943, they finally caught up with me. And I remember the way I felt when I opened that letter – like it was a death sentence. But there was no way out; I had to go. So I got my uniform, dressed up in it like I was proud of it, and shipped out for England, just like I was supposed to, and trying not to think about how I’d never see Steve again, and trying to forget the awful look on his face when he first saw me in my uniform, as he realised I was going somewhere he couldn’t follow me. Idiot.   
You don’t get a lot of training before they send you off to the front. And it’s very basic. More or less how to hold a gun and which end the bullets come out. OK, there’s a little more to it than that. But that is kind of the main bit. Anyway, somewhere along the line, I turned out to be a good shot, so I got taken off for extra training; they wanted to turn me into a sniper. I was actually kind of relieved. As a sniper, the whole point is that you shoot from a distance – you’re not expected to fight in the thick of things so much. And I was relieved that I might avoid the close quarters fighting that some of the others would have to face. I did mention that I’m not that brave, didn’t I?   
Then again, I guess it takes a special kind of brave to look down the sight of a rifle, aim at a man’s head, and pull the trigger. And I found that I did have that in me. Like I said, I’m not a good man.  
War – was awful. There are no words that can adequately describe just how awful it was. It was everything I thought it would be – horrifying, sickening, and all the rest. And a lot of the time, it didn’t even feel like we were getting anywhere or gaining anything – men were dying, and being captured, for nothing. And then came HYDRA, and I was captured and taken to one of their bases. Most of us were put to work, building their hellish weapons, like no technology I’d ever seen before, and they worked us, literally, until we dropped dead. But for some of us, a worse fate was in store. We were taken off to solitary confinement, and then they – tortured us. They said it was scientific experimentation, and maybe it was, but it felt like torture to me. I remember enough of it to know that I don’t want to remember any more of it… I don’t know why they chose me – if it was just that I was strong, young and healthy, or if they knew I was Captain America’s best friend (by then, they must have known that he’d been successfully created), or if I was simply just unlucky, but… My memories of that time are very fractured, but I don’t think many of the others with me lasted that long – they died screaming in agony. I’m pretty sure I did a lot of screaming too, but for some reason, I didn’t die. Perhaps Steve was able to rescue me before it went too far, but subsequent events would tend to suggest that for some reason, I was suitable subject material for whatever it was they were trying to achieve. Steve thinks they were trying to recreate the same serum that made him, and that to some extent, with me, they were successful. I survived a fall no man should have, I am a lot stronger than the average man, and not all of that is the metal arm, and my levels of endurance are a lot higher. I’m no Captain America, but it would seem I’m somewhere along that road.  
But after that, things are a lot more hazy. My life as a Howling Commando consists mostly of small snatches of things; I remember very little of it. Maybe my programming into the Winter Soldier had already begun, and they were already trying to erase me. I don’t remember falling from the train, I don’t remember much about who found me, or what they did to me, except for the pain, and I really remember very little about the brainwashing, mind control, and conditioning they put me through, to turn me into their perfect weapon. Nor do I remember much about being the Winter Soldier. But I killed a lot of people, and I don’t think that I was overly concerned about the collateral damage, and I can’t help but feel that there should be a reckoning for that. I should pay for what I’ve done.  
But first, this world, this time, needs Steve. I need Steve. So I’m going to go and find him and bring him back. And if I make it back, I’ll face up to it then. And if I die in the attempt, then maybe that will be for the best. At least, now you know the truth. I’m not a good man.

 

\-------------------------------------

Coney Island was dark and largely deserted just before dawn. No lights shone in the hotel, or out on the bay. There were only the sounds of the sea and a few animals. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a flash of orange light. In its aftermath, the silence seemed somehow deeper – the quiet of people keeping very very still, combined with the quiet of the animals who suddenly didn’t want to draw attention to themselves.  
Natasha’s first reaction to appearing on the dark coast was relief. Tony’s meddling with the time gem had – it seemed – worked. Certainly the shore looked the same, which suggested they were in the same place. Except this far in the past, there was no faint glow of electric lights anywhere, leaving everything eerily dark, except where the moon silvered the waves. She hadn’t realised how used she was to having some light around. Her next reaction was to look around for Barnes. He was there, standing next to her, apparently unhurt, looking around himself as warily and curiously as she was herself.  
There was so much that was different here that it was almost overwhelming, even where the changes were relatively subtle. There was the dark, and the quiet that was so much deeper than when they’d left, without the faint hum of traffic in the background. Even the smell was different – fresh sea and country smells without an underpinning gasoline note. But she couldn’t spend too long consciously appreciating these changes, they needed to move off the island so they weren’t noticed when everyone started waking up. And in this time, Coney Island was truly an island, and without a good change of clothes they needed to cross on the only bridge. Bracing herself, she reached out to touch Barnes on the arm to catch his attention – her training was too strong for her to make unnecessary noise in unknown territory. The touch seemed to startle him and he turned on her with surprising speed and quietness – an unsettling reminder of his recent training as an assassin. But he rapidly regained control of himself and held his hand out for the Time Gem. Somewhat reluctantly she handed it over, and he opened their Gladstone case and stowed the Time Gem safely in the secret compartment. She extracted the compass out of her reticule and pulled the vintage map up on the datapad. In the dark the pad’s electronic glow looked otherworldly – a reminder of how out of place they were in this time.  
Her dress wasn’t best suited to walking in the dark through a wood, as the petticoats kept catching on branches, and rustling in the leaves. But at least there was no one around to hear. Her natural instinct was to keep as quiet as possible, so she didn’t try and talk to Barnes. She also wasn’t used to it being this hard to keep up with anyone on a mission. She really hoped they found Steve before she had to spend too long in this outfit as it would drive her mad to be so hampered for too long.   
By the time they were approaching the bridge, she was more tired than a half an hour walk would suggest, and the first faint glow of dawn was lighting the creek. She could see the hotel just to the south of them, at this time one of very few buildings on the island. The bridge was a toll bridge – she had no idea how much a toll would be in these days, and no amount of research had been able to glean an answer, so she was hoping that the small handful of forged coins they had would be either enough, or not far too much. But before that, they needed to get into character – they were about to encounter their first 1840s native, and they needed to pass muster.   
But as she turned to her partner – no, her husband – she saw him staring back across the island, as the light grew stronger. He had that unfocussed and slightly wild-eyed look in his eyes that he got when he was regaining memories. Inwardly, Natasha groaned. This really wasn’t the time for this. But she remembered what Sam had told her – Bucky could get more than a little unstable at times like this, but that he could be grounded if you kept talking to him.   
“Bucky?” He half turned his head to look at her, but then looked back out across the island, his eyes seemingly a million miles away.  
“Bucky, what is it? What are you remembering? Tell me.” She spoke softly, not just because her voice carried eerily across the nearly deserted island, but because she didn’t want to spook him.  
“I brought Steve here once, when we were kids. There used to be theme parks here, all kinds of rides and attractions. We didn’t get to go there often – we didn’t always have the money for the rides. But one time, I made him go on the Cyclone.” There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face as he talked – it softened his features amazingly; Natasha couldn’t find any trace of the Winter Soldier there. “It was the biggest rollercoaster there, and Steve, well, he didn’t really have a head for heights back then. I bullied him onto it, bought the tickets before he could argue, and bundled him on – it’s not like he could stop me back then.” He lapsed into silence, lost in the memories.  
“Did he enjoy it?” Natasha prompted.  
“What?” He turned and looked at her, confused as he tried to process what she’d said. “Oh, no, he hated it.” He suddenly grinned. “If I recall correctly, he threw up everywhere.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Maybe we should have had the cotton candy after we went on it.”   
In spite of herself, Natasha smiled. It was a sweet memory, from a much more innocent time, and the kind of memory he needed to get back. The ones that tied him to who he really was.   
She stood beside him as he stared out across where, in a few decades, the very rollercoaster he’d just been remembering would be built. After a few moments of anxiously watching him for any sign of instability, she judged it was safe to continue their mission.  
“Bucky?” He looked sharply at her, but in the way of someone who’d been startled out of a reverie, not the way of a cold, calculating assassin. He looked at her questioningly.  
“We need to start being ancient now.” Habit made her add a joke – that and the fact that for once, she felt comfortable enough around him to joke. “You should be used to that, old man”. The wry look she received in return was her reward. In response, she threaded her arm through his, smiled demurely up at him and said, in a voice full of laughter, “Lead on, darling husband”.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

It was mid-morning by the time they arrived in the main town of Brooklyn. The countryside had been relatively easy to deal with, but the built up area was doing strange things to Bucky’s mind. When he looked up, it was disconcertingly like the Brooklyn he knew – similarly shaped buildings, the same colours and many of the same landmarks. It wasn’t quite the same; every so often, there was the odd jarring note, even when he’d thought something looked right. It was just like everything else in his mind, he reflected miserably, even the familiar was strange and somehow out of joint. Of course, looking around at head height, things were far more different. The men’s clothes were broadly the same, but to see ladies walking around in big wide skirts was just… weird. The shops were all different too, and there were horses and carts in the roadway, not the cars and the trolleys he’d been used to. But somehow, when things were really odd, it was easier to cope with. Just like Times Square in 2015 had been easier to see than Brooklyn – it was just new, not something he should recognise but didn’t quite. Suddenly he was tired of it all. Tired of everything being so difficult. Not just this mission, but everything. If only one thing, just one thing, could be easy.   
Dispiritedly, he asked Natasha, “How on earth are we going to find him?”  
Natasha was glad of the interruption. While she wasn’t plagued by discordant memories and half recognised views, the sight of streets full of horses and urchins and people in dresses and suits was starting to give her a distinct sense of unreality. She couldn’t quite believe that this was all real, and not a film set. She was half expecting to hear someone shout “Cut”, and then all these people would suddenly stop and start behaving like normal 2015 people. But Bucky’s question brought her back to the mission at hand. She locked her feelings down and considered the practicalities.   
“We’ll have to ask. Thankfully, by the standards of today, he’s practically a giant. And he was wearing his uniform and shield. People should remember him.”  
Bucky smiled at that. It was only a little smile, but it was something, given the downbeat nature of his thoughts.   
“By almost any standards he’s pretty large.”  
“True. But especially here and now.” She thought some more. It was important to narrow the search range. Even a small town such as Brooklyn was in the 1840s was far too large to find anyone quickly. And if there was one thing she really wanted, it was to get to the end of this mission.   
“Are there any places, landmarks, that Steve might go to? Anywhere he’d be familiar with, that he might think we’d go?”  
As with Natasha, the practical questions helped to ground Bucky.   
“Some of the bigger buildings around were built to stand the test of time. Maybe Borough Hall?”  
“We’ll start round there then. We’ll accost every clerk we see, and check in all the shops and stalls around there, asking after our friend.”  
Getting into the spirit of it, Bucky added, “Then we should try the Catholic Cathedral. Mrs Rogers was Catholic; they were there a lot. I can’t see it from here, but I’m pretty sure it’s old enough to be around today.”   
“Ok, we’ll try there if we don’t find anything at the Borough Hall.” As they were walking towards the imposing building, a thought occurred to Natasha. “Where did you grow up?”  
She spoke a little sharply, and out of the blue. Startled into an instinctive response, Bucky rattled off his childhood address as automatically as if she’d asked for his name, rank and number. Thinking of that reminded him of when he’d last given that information out – on a table in a HYDRA base, with Steve bending over him, come to save him. That was a dark tunnel of memories to be falling down, so it was with relief that he heard Natasha chuckle.   
“Your mother trained you well, Barnes. We’ll head to that area after the church. Chances are Steve would head that way. If that fails, we keep going, work our way out.” She looked up at Barnes. His face looked drawn and slightly hopeless. “If we have to ask every person in this town, we’ll find him,” she said, reassuringly.   
“It’s just so hard,” he complained.   
“That’s real life spy work, I’m afraid. It’s not all martinis and fast cars.” Bucky didn’t look as if he’d got the reference, but he nodded and squared his shoulders to the task ahead. And that was all she needed. 

 

\------------------------------------

 

It was hard work, and wondering what you’d say that would give you away only added to the tension. No-one they asked around Borough Hall had heard of a blond giant puppy dog called Steve Rogers, and they had the same luck at the Basilica, and everywhere in between. Eventually, Natasha suggested they stop and rest, as neither of them had eaten for hours. They took a room at a hotel in Brooklyn Heights, in preparation for failing for the rest of the day as well.   
Before they set off for the afternoon, Natasha, with a few misgivings, suggested they split up and search separately; they’d cover a lot more ground that way. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to let Bucky loose on his own, especially as he was clearly struggling with his memories, but she also knew that time was ticking, and the sooner they found Steve, the less time he had to get into any trouble. She very delicately suggested he go in the opposite direction to where his old home had been, and decided she’d check that area out herself. They agreed to meet back at the hotel in a few hours time, and to try out Tony’s comms whilst they searched.  
Bucky watched Natasha as she disappeared into the crowd, envying how effortlessly she seemed to assimilate herself into whatever situation she found herself in. He too had been an assassin, and he had the stealthy side down pat, but he’d always stayed hidden in the shadows. Being out in the open like this, especially in his current state, made him feel vulnerable and exposed. And when he felt vulnerable and exposed, it made it easier for his belligerent alter ego to gain control of him. And he rather thought that a mass brawl on the streets of 1840s Brooklyn would be sure to mess with the timelines.   
Such a Bucky-like thought brought him back to himself. Resolutely, he turned away from where he’d last seen Natasha, and strode off towards the Navy Yard docks. He and Steve had spent a lot of time there, watching the ships with his – with his sister? Bucky stopped dead in the street, causing no small amount of consternation to the people around him, as a rush of memories came back to him. His little sister, Emily. He’d been almost as single-mindedly protective of her as he had been of Steve, and she’d always had his back, too. Whenever their mother had torn a strip off him for getting into fights (without exception, because Steve had started them), and deprived him of his dinner, Emily had always saved half of hers for him. And she had loved those ships. She’d always been so excited to see them, and she’d always made him go and find out where they’d come from. And whenever he came back with the news that one of them was in from China, she’d been ridiculously excited. She’d always wanted to go to China. He wondered if she’d ever made it there.   
“Are you alright, sir?” Bucky was pulled out of his memories abruptly, and immediately went on high alert, the Winter Soldier scanning the street for potential threats and pointing out several quick and efficient ways in which they could be removed. With a superhuman effort, Bucky brutally suppressed those instincts and turned slowly, and he hoped non-threateningly, towards the person who’d spoken, a newspaper-seller.  
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to make you jump, but you just stopped suddenly, and you looked lost somehow. And then when you didn’t move on, I thought I should check on you.” The man gabbled on at him in a panicky fashion, as Bucky suppressed a sigh; clearly he hadn’t been that non-threatening.   
He held his hands up placatingly. “I’m fine. I just – I just haven’t been here in a while, and it’s amazing how much it’s changed. It hit me quite hard, that’s all. Er, thanks for trying to help.” Before the man could reply, he rushed on, “Actually, I’m looking for a friend. His name is Steve, Steve Rogers. He’s really tall, broad-shouldered, blond, might have been wearing strange clothes?”  
“Sorry, sir. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that. He sounds like someone you’d remember.”  
Bucky sighed. “Yes, he is that. Thanks, anyway.” But as he turned away to walk on, his eye was caught by the newspapers on the stand – something about them had seemed wrong. He walked closer and inspected them more closely. And then he saw it, and his heart stopped. Grabbing one of the papers and throwing a whole handful of coins at the bemused seller, he stalked off in search of a quiet alleyway.  
“Natasha? We have a serious problem.”

 

\-----------------------------------

 

“You’ve been gone for hours.”  
“It’s been five years, Barnes. It took me a while to find someone who remembered him, ok?”  
He sat up straight. “But you found someone?”  
Natasha looked at his expectant face with trepidation. He wasn’t going to like what she was going to say, and he wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind as it was. She’d had to go out searching by herself that afternoon – Barnes’ discovery that they were several years off-target had sent him into a tailspin. She’d felt it was safer to leave him in their room rather than trust his self-control to hold whilst he fruitlessly searched Brooklyn for his friend, a Brooklyn just similar enough to the one he’d known to trigger memories and destabilise him further. He hadn’t liked it much, but had been sensible enough to acquiesce in the end.  
“I did, yes.” She looked at him speculatively. “There’s – well, there’s good news and there’s bad news.”  
“Please. Just say it.” His metal hand was clenching and unclenching spasmodically by his side. Natasha eyed it nervously, not sure he even realised he was doing it.  
“Good news – he’s alive.”  
“He is? Where? Where is he?” The eagerness in Barnes’ voice was painful to hear.  
“Well, that’s the bad news. He was here, well, somewhere in New York, but about six months ago, he decided to leave. And go to – Oregon.”  
He sat down in a rush; she could see him deflate as the hope seeped out of him.  
“Oregon? Why in the hell would he do that?”  
“Apparently, it’s all the rage at the moment. All the cool kids are doing it.”  
Her attempt at levity sailed over his head – instead, he frowned at her, as if he was trying really hard to remember something. Then his brow cleared.  
“The pioneers.” He frowned again. “He’s gone to be a pioneer? Why? How does he expect us to find him if he heads off to the other end of the country?’  
“Well, it’s been five years. Maybe he thinks we’re not coming for him.”  
“Of course we’d come for him! He knows that!” His metal fist came crashing down suddenly on the table by the bed. Splinters of wood exploded everywhere, and Natasha involuntarily jumped back.  
Barnes looked up at her, and she could see the menace swirling in his eyes. Instinctively, she sized up the windows and doors, looking for her escape route. But when he spoke again, his tone was broken.   
“How could he think I’d leave him like that?”  
Looking back at him, slightly unwillingly, all she could see was a lost little boy. She was surprised that Bucky was keeping control of himself so well – it wasn’t like any of their discoveries so far had been good news at all. And she still had one more to reveal.  
“There’s one more thing – I – I don’t know whether it’s good or bad news.” Barnes looked up at her, still and alert once more. “Steve went to Oregon with someone.” She swallowed. “With his wife.”  
Bucky could only stare at her, too stunned to speak. His wife? That made absolutely no sense. He was from the future, he knew that, he must surely realise that he could put the future into serious jeopardy if he got too entangled here and started changing things. Fine, Steve had never loved the science fiction stories that Bucky hadn’t been able to get enough of, but he was surely bright enough to grasp that he shouldn’t interfere with things here. And a wife? Steve had got married and he hadn’t been there? A huge pang of grief suddenly overwhelmed him. He should have been there. How could Steve have done such a thing without him?  
Natasha meanwhile was thinking through the other implications of Steve’s actions. Not one to give much thought to the space-time continuum, her mind was given over to more practical considerations – Steve’s wife complicated things. Really complicated them. Getting to Oregon – well, Independence, Missouri, technically – he’d still be there right now – was not an insurmountable problem, even in this time, finding Steve there was also not outside the bounds of possibility. But he was hardly going to leave a wife behind to go back to his own time. And the idea of bringing some backward, closeted little 1840s madam into the bright, shiny 21st century – Natasha snorted with amusement at the thought. Barnes’ immediately offended expression wiped the smirk off her face, and forced her to think practically. No need to worry about that bridge until they came to cross it.  
“I guess we need to find out the fastest way to Independence, Missouri. See if we can catch up with him before he sets off in search of his manifest destiny.”  
And then they’d see about getting him back where he belonged. Assuming of course that Tony’s instructions on ‘correct’ use of the Time Gem didn’t send them hurtling into the 22nd century…


End file.
